undercurrents
by jaded.envy.sora
Summary: Mizuchi didn't expect much out of the beaten up boy who hung around her school. She was only looking to gain information and power over him - another puppet for Father's wishes. She didn't expect to form a bond with him over their broken homes. She didn't expect him to turn towards her instead of away. Human AU.


**My second submission to Noragami Big Bang 2016. My amazing artist was leopah, you can see her awesome art on my tumblr ( jaded-envy, noragami-musings.) Recommended listening can be found on my 8tracks account (jaded_envy). Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The boy's there again.

This time there's a yellowing bruise across his cheek, which looks kind of ugly if you ask Mizuchi. It's a shame, really, because he's not bad looking aside from that. Soft blonde hair, pointy chin, good taste in clothing. She likes his eyes the best - orangey brown, like chestnuts. He must be from another school; she'd remember a face like that if he was one of her classmates.

She lingers after school lets out, ignoring the dark glances of her classmates. As soon as it's relatively clear, she walks over to the low cement wall where he's perched.

"Why aren't you in school? You don't go here."

He jumps, spinning his head around to glare at her.

"None of your goddamned business, that's why," he snarls. His eyes are glassy and rimmed with red.

Mizuchi shrugs. "Fine." She smiles, small and mean. "Better get some ice for those bruises. Wouldn't want them to linger, now would you?"

She turns, starts to walk away. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about!" he yells after her.

Mizuchi doesn't even respond, just keeps walking.

* * *

It's another two days before he shows up again, skulking around the chain link fence. This time, Mizuchi goes out to see him when everyone else is eating lunch in the classroom.

He sees her as she walks across the schoolyard, and she's never seen a fiercer scowl. "What do you want?"

She doesn't say anything. He squints at her, but Mizuchi only looks back coolly, and it doesn't take long before he glances away. He kicks at the pavement, scattering the dead leaves on the ground. "Freaky eyed girl," he mutters.

Mizuchi lets the words, like so many others, pass over her. "I like your eyes," she tells him.

They widen.

"Orangey brown, like chestnuts." She takes a step closer, and he flinches. "Sweet but acidic, with a spiky husk all around it to protect its soft inner flesh." She sees the fear beginning to creep into his eyes.

"But," her mouth twists cruelly, "there's nothing inside your husk, is there?"

He takes a step back, fists clenched at his sides. "G-go away!" he shouts at her.

She giggles. This time he's the one that turns and runs, but she knows her words aren't so easily chased away.

* * *

The bruises have migrated to his wrists. He keeps pulling the sleeves of his olive-green jacket down to cover them, but it's a little too small for him and they keep riding up. Mizuchi watches his constant tugging from the window, wondering why he keeps coming back.

He's not by the concrete wall during lunch break, but she doesn't think he's gone far, so she goes looking for him. She finds him slumped against an oak tree, throwing acorns at the fence.

Mizuchi's not the only one who noticed him. She watches one of the teachers approach him, probably to tell him off for not wearing his uniform. The boy looks up, startled, and presses against the tree as if it'd protect him. The teacher frowns, then reaches to grab his sleeves. He reacts violently, jerking away and spitting obscenities.

"Miyomoto-sensei."

The woman's head whips around, and she pushes her glasses up on her nose. "Oh, it's you. Do you know this boy?"

The teacher doesn't see the look of hatred that creeps into his eyes when he recognizes Mizuchi. "I was telling him that he needs to change into his uniform immediately, or else I'll have to call his parents to come pick him up." She also doesn't notice the horror that passes across his face at this statement.

"Miyomoto-sensei," Mizuchi says sweetly, "I think that I heard Yamaguchi-sensei in the lunchroom asking about where you are. Apparently he wants to talk to you…privately." She smirks.

Miyomoto immediately flushes, then cuts a glare at her. "Little children should keep their mouths shut and their ears closed," she mutters, and stalks off in the direction of the school.

Mizuchi watches her go, satisfied.

"I didn't need your help," the boy grumbles. Mizuchi bends down to pick up an acorn and twirls it in her fingers, studying its shiny surface. If he wants to think she was helping him, not reminding the teacher of where she stood, of who was in charge, he was welcome to it. She drops the acorn, crushing it beneath her foot.

"Thanks," he says gruffly. She shrugs and lets the silence stretch out between them, watching him carefully. At least the bruising on his face is barely visible now, and he looks a lot better without it marring his complexion.

He shifts uncomfortably, eyes avoiding hers. "Um…" He glances at her, and she looks back, expressionless. "Uh…my name's Yukine."

She squats down, studying a trail of ants weaving around the scattered leaves and twigs on the ground. He clears his throat. "Are you gonna tell me your name?"

"Mizuchi." She keeps staring at the ground. The ants swarm around a dead beetle, its desiccated guts stuck to the blacktop.

"Oh. Okay." A beat, and Yukine scrunches down beside her. "What are you looking at?"

Mizuchi points at the frantic activity. "It's like a car crash. All the ambulance workers are trying to get the passengers out of the car but their insides are already spilled all over the street." She snickers.

He wrinkles his nose. "That's gross, don't talk about that."

Mizuchi shrugs and stands up, dusting off her skirt. She deliberately places her foot on top of the ant pile, grinding her foot down as she turns around.

The bell rings, and she leaves him squatting there in the dust. She can feel his stare as she walks away.

* * *

He's got cuts all over his forearms, the next time he comes. Most are crusted over, but a few are still trickling blood. He fumbles with some strips of cloth, trying to wrap the wounds with one hand.

"Wow. You're so bad at that it's almost impressive."

"Fuck you," Yukine grumbles under his breath, but he doesn't shy away when she sits next to him.

She enjoys watching him struggle for a bit, until his ineptitude is enough to frustrate her.

"Stupid," Mizuchi mutters, digging around in her backpack for disinfectant. She yanks his sleeve all the way up, ignoring his snapping, and carefully cleans the wounds with the wipe. She tosses a normal bandage at him. "If those get infected, you'll have to go to the hospital. Then you'll really be in trouble, won't you?" she singsongs in a mocking tone.

Yukine is looking at her with wide eyes. She stares back impassively, and he blinks, picking up the bandage and peeling off the backing.

They sit in awkward silence, the quiet broken only by the crinkling of the adhesive paper and the little hisses that escape from Yukine's lips as he seals the bandages down. Mizuchi focuses on the chill of the air, on the way the sun bleeds across the pavement and the sound of the wind kicking dead leaves around the yard. If she listens hard enough, she can drown out the hissing voice in her head, the one asking her what's she's doing why does she care that's not Yato that's not Father Father would be upset Father Father Father -

Instead, Mizuchi fingers her own scars, feeling for some of the pitted marks in the fold of her elbow. They match the ones on her shoulder, on her ankle, on her hips, in other countless locations. She presses against the smooth, irregular welts that twine around her arms and the rough scratches that adorn her shins.

She catches Yukine staring at her out of the corner of her eye, and turns to look at him, chin high. His eyes flicker between her crisscrossed skin and her face. There's something in his gaze she can't identify - it's not pity, not anger or fear or disgust or aversion.

"Thanks," Yukine says quietly. He holds her eyes with his own, and there's a thrum in her chest. Mizuchi looks away.

"Don't get used to it," she says brusquely.

He shrugs, and she slides off the wall.

"See you tomorrow?" he calls after her as she begins to walk away.

Mizuchi hesitates. "Maybe," someone says in her voice, and then she's gone.

* * *

She's sitting on the bench outside one of the shops a few days later, kicking her feet idly, when there's a flash of blonde out the corner of her eye. She turns her head, and sure enough it's Yukine, walking down the street - she'd recognize that slouching, brooding gait anywhere.

Yukine almost walks into her, so intent is he on glaring at the sidewalk. "What the- get out of my…" His eyes widen with recognition. "Oh. Hi Mizuchi."

"Yukine." She cocks her head at him. "What are you doing?"

He shrugs, scuffs his feet. "Had to get out."

His stomach rumbles, and he flushes in embarrassment. She hasn't eaten in a while either, come to think of it. "Well as long as you don't have anything else to do, you can treat me to some food. Payback for those bandages I gave you."

Yukine grumbles, but she's already skipping ahead, leading the way to one of the convenience stores that she knows has just finished a new batch of buns.

"That'll be 345 yen," the cashier drawls from behind the counter, not bothering to look up from her magazine.

Yukine digs around in his pocket, movements becoming frantic when he realizes he's missing his wallet.

The cashier looks up at the delay. Her eyes go flat when she sees Mizuchi.

"I…I had it here, I know I did…"

"Don't worry about it kid," the woman says, stare never leaving Mizuchi.

Yukine looks up, brow furrowed. "W-what?"

The cashier has already turned away. "Just get out of here."

Mizuchi hums, satisfied. She pulls Yukine, still flabbergasted, out of line to go sit outside. She's already biting into the bun when she notices that he's still standing, fingers tugging at the ends of his hair, muttering to himself.

Mizuchi rolls her eyes. "You probably dropped it on the way here." She takes another bite, reveling in the taste of the warm filling, before getting up to help him search.

Sure enough, they find it not too far from the store, a little behind a garbage can. Yukine scoops it up gratefully, and firmly shoves it into his coat pocket.

They end up sitting near the pond, watching people throw bread crumbs to the ducks as Yukine devours his food. Mizuchi giggles as one of the ducks snaps at the fingers of a child who strays too close to it. The child's face screws up with pain and a wail escapes it as it runs back to its parent.

From the corner of her eye, she can see Yukine's burning glare at the kid, envy clearly written all over his face.

The air begins to cool with the warning of night, and the first fingers of darkness crawl across the sky. Yukine shivers, and gets up quickly, licking the last bits of the filling of his fingers. "I have to go."

She checks her watch, and a jolt goes through her when she realizes how late it is already. She hasn't finished her route yet. A buzzing begins to build in the back of her chest, and she pushes away from the bench. "Me too."

Yukine rubs the back of his neck. "…I guess I still owe you. For the bandages."

"Guess you do."

"…Next time then."

She nods. They part.

This time she's the one who's hurt, a long deep scratch along the outside of her leg. Mizuchi wears her long stockings, the ones that go over her knee, and secures them with rubber bands to make sure they don't slip down. Even so, the red lines peek out from behind the cloth, grinning.

Yukine's pretty oblivious, she's concluded over the time she's known him, but he's not blind, and he knows what to look for. He touches the edge of the longest one tentatively, then pulls away hurriedly, flushing. She rolls her eyes at him, and pulls down the stocking, which only makes him blush harder. He looks away, but she sees him darting glances at her legs from the corner of his eye.

Mizuchi lays out the first aid kit that she keeps in her backpack, and Yukine jumps to go wet one of the cloth towels for her. He awkwardly tries to wipe the area, but he's too soft, too afraid of hurting her; she flicks away his fingers and scrubs her wound, watching the blood well up and soak the cloth. She stares, hypnotized by the oozing, the deep red color, the wobbling viscosity.

Then Yukine attempts to put a bandage on it before even disinfecting the area, and she snaps out of her trance, grabbing it out of his hands. "You really are hopeless," she tells him, but he just sticks her tongue out at her.

"You're pretty good at first aid Mizuchi," Yukine says, rubbing the bandages on his forearms.

"Lots of practice," she replies. There's understanding in Yukine's eyes when he looks at her, and it pulls her to say more. "It's easier when you start on someone else first."

"Someone else?"

"I had a brother once." Mizuchi thinks back.

"What happened to him?"

 _You never change Hiiro. No matter what happened, no matter what we did…_

"He left," she says shortly.

* * *

She wishes he would come back. She misses him, as much as someone like her can miss anyone. Misses his nickname for her, Hiiro, misses having someone to share secrets with.

The tickling of grass as they crouched in the shade of a house to eavesdrop on a couple's argument. The sweet taste of azuki paste and the sticky grains of rice sprinkled on their fingers as they shared a filched good. Yaboku's laughter, bright and clear, when Father lifted the two of them high and spun them around. The quiet snuffling from under the blanket they shared, the matted wetness of his tear stained hair when she brushed it away from his face. The cold shock of the ice as she pressed it against one of Yaboku's bruises, another lesson, reminder from Father to not talk to strangers.

Lessons that Yaboku never seemed to understand, that things were better this way. Yaboku's not as strong as you Mizuchi, Father told her. He's too soft, too easily tricked. You need to guide him, need to make sure he understands.

And she tried, she really did. But Yaboku still questioned, still pushed back, still rejected her advice. Still rejected her.

Father never seemed concerned that Yaboku chafed at every turn, never seemed to care that he spent longer and longer times away from home. "Don't worry Mizuchi," he would say, ruffling her hair. "Yaboku will come back. He always does. We're his family."

Still, she would huddle by the window, watching the streets below for his return, relying on the cold windowpane contacting her nodding head to wake her up. When he didn't come back home three days after the fight, the terrible fight, she dragged her futon to its now permanent place next to the windowsill.

She still stays up at night, straining her eyes in the darkness, even though she knows he'll never come back on his own.

* * *

There's a classmate talking to Yukine. Nakamura Yuri, thirteen, class 2-B. She can't hear what they're talking about, but she doesn't like the look on either of their faces: Nakamura's small little smile and glinting eyes, Yukine's furrowed brow and conflicted mouth.

They stop talking abruptly when they hear her approach. "Oh Mizuchi-chan," Nakamura says, grinning now. "We were just talking about you."

Mizuchi just looks at him, and Nakamura's smile begins to falter. "Na-ka-mu-ra Yu-ri," she draws out. "How are your siblings doing at their new school? Still passing their tests with perfect grades that they don't earn?" She enjoys the way the color drains out of his face.

Nakamura swallows. "I…I have to go." He shoots a look at Yukine. "Don't forget what I told you," he warns, then leaves.

Mizuchi brushes past Yukine, refusing to look at him. She doesn't need to see the look of disgust on his face, the recognition of who she is and what she does.

She hears him call out for her behind her, but she only quickens her pace until she's far beyond the school gate and can't hear him anymore.

Mizuchi doesn't need him. She doesn't need anyone except Father.

She hears them whisper behind her back. She can't be trusted, they say, you can't tell her anything because she'll use it against you. Yet it's always Mizuchi they go to when they want rumors spread, when a scorned student wants revenge on their teacher, when a group wants to ostracize their former friend, when a bullied classmate wants his torturers to pay.

They talk about her expressionless eyes, how she never stops smiling, even when she sprained her ankle during gym class. The teachers first express concern at her isolation, then hatred and contempt when she begins to unearth their secrets. Even the school psychologist seemed intimidated by her ruthlessness, suggesting she be evaluated, like there's something wrong with her. And maybe there is. Yato always seemed uncomfortable around her, always telling her to stop smiling because it creeped him out, looking the other way in disgust when she recounted what rumors she had spread over dinner.

But Father never thought so. Father always defended her. "My Mizuchi is fine just the way she is. She doesn't need any of your meddling," he told the psychiatrist and dragged her away from his polite frowns and cold eyes. "You're a good kid, a strong tough kid," he consoled her. "That's how I raised you to be."

It's because they're weak that people say those things about her. Father's the only one who understands.

Keep your ears open Mizuchi, he would tell her. There's power in knowing things no one wants found out. No one can touch you when you hold all of the strings, for fear of cutting their own.

And she did. Everyone's concerns became hers, except for their concern towards her. There wasn't a secret told in their town that she didn't learn of, not a whispered rumor that she didn't have a hand in somehow, no politician or important figure that she didn't know how to expose or exploit if needed. She crept, she listened, she relayed. So what if it earned her the scorn of her peers, the suspicions of the townspeople, the hatred of the masses? They were merely puppets, and she their puppeteer, knowing exactly which words to twist and which situations to manipulate to have them do Father's bidding.

So what if Yukine never speaks to her again, knowing exactly what she is and what she does? The clenching of her heart means nothing. He means nothing. She feels nothing.

* * *

Mizuchi tries to avoid him the next day, taking a different way out of the building, but there's only one gate out of the school grounds. She walks as fast as she can without making it seem obvious that she's running, but soon enough she feels a hand on her shoulder. She whirls around. "What," Mizuchi snaps.

Yukine's eyes are wide with surprise at her tone. He lets go of her quickly, raising his hands in the air non-threateningly. "Nothing. I was just wondering where you were going."

"To go spy on people and spread discord and ruin people's lives, what else?" She bites down on her words. It doesn't matter, she thinks fiercely, it doesn't matter, who cares what he thinks? She looks away, glares at the ground. Be like water Mizuchi, she reminds herself.

"O…kay." Yukine shrugs. "Whatever. Does that mean you don't want to go get something to eat?"

Mizuchi eyes him, suspicious. "Eat?"

"I thought that's what we were going to do today, yeah." There's redness creeping up his neck. "Unless you didn't want to."

She doesn't say anything. Yukine sighs. "Look, I don't care what your classmates say. I mean, what do they know, right?" He runs a hand through his hair, faded bruises peeking out from under his sleeves. "They're not…like us. None of them probably have to worry about…" he gestures vaguely to her leg, where the scabbed scratch hides underneath her stockings, "that."

"Y…yeah." She swallows against the sudden pressure in her throat. "Yeah."

"So…" He shuffles. "Are we going?"

Mizuchi nods stiffly. "Okay. Let's go."

* * *

Yukine is crying.

He's trying hard to hide it, pretending he's just tired. His face is buried in his arms, but he's clutching his knees like they're his only lifeline and he can't quite stifle his little sobs and sniffs.

Mizuchi watches him, curious. He's getting his sleeves all wet and snotty, she notes with distaste.

She drifts closer. His hair flutters as he raises his head, just high enough so that a single red rimmed eye can peek out. It blinks, then disappears back into his arms.

Seeing him like this makes her heart feel like it's being squeezed, a constant pressure that makes her breath come a little harder. Mizuchi doesn't understand it, doesn't know why. She pushes it away.

She finds herself sitting next to him. He's shaking, and she wonders at the intensity of his emotions. Yato cried like this, she remembers, cried like there was something tearing him apart on the inside that he could only let out through his tears and whimpers.

Mizuchi doesn't cry like that. Mizuchi doesn't cry at all.

She feels a warm pressure against her shoulder as he shifts, leaning slightly into her. She stiffens instantly, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"I h-h-hate him," he sniffs. "I wish he'd d-die!"

His voice dissolves into hiccups, and Mizuchi is left feeling like…like there's something she should do. Something that normal people do, people who have emotions and feelings and are not heartless, like her.

What can she do? There's nothing in her life that she hasn't torn apart, hasn't twisted her nails into and pierced. The only words that come to her mind are sharp and biting, blunt truths and harsh lies. She knows exactly what to say to make him shudder, make him huddle into himself more and spit fury and denial at her. That's what she was made to do.

Abruptly, she hates him - hates him for putting her in a position in which she feels so helpless and unequipped to deal with. Where she's drowning instead of skimming the surface.

So she says nothing. She sits there stiffly against the warm pressure of his side, silent as a stone, silent as ice.

His sobs quiet, and there's longer gaps of silence between his gasps for breath. Eventually, Yukine pulls away from her and scrubs his face furiously.

He takes a deep breath.

"Thanks."

Mizuchi blinks at him, bewildered.

He sighs, then gives her a tiny, shaky smile. "I needed that."

What did she do? She doesn't understand.

Yukine places a hand on her forearm, and she's still shocked by his admission that she helped him (helped, her, she helped him, didn't make him feel worse, didn't make him hate her) that she doesn't pull away.

"You're good company Mizuchi."

The words echo in her mind for days.

* * *

She doesn't have the words to describe what exactly she feels around Yukine. It annoys her, itching at her, making her feel like her skin is just a little too small for her, that it can't contain her. It reminds her of the sweet summer rain, light and warm on her face. A warning of the storm to come.

Stop it, she scolds herself. Even Yato…

She tells herself she's taking advantage of him, just like she would anyone else. Let him think that she's nice, that she's not emotionless or cruelly practical.

He'll learn, sooner or later, that there's something wrong with her - something broken, something inhuman. They all do.

(Maybe he already has, something whispers to her, so quietly that she has to strain to hear it.

Maybe he has and doesn't care.)

* * *

It's almost winter now, and soft white flakes are drifting down from the sky. Mizuchi likes the snow, likes how it covers the ugly dying grass and the bits of trash that flutter in the cold wind.

Yukine hasn't been by for a week now. She finds herself wondering where he is.

* * *

She tells herself that she's only scouting for more information, looking to see if there's anything new to learn. After the third time she's wandered her normal territory, she gives up and makes her way to Yukine's school.

Mizuchi finds him, cold and shivering, in a back alley near a restaurant. She sighs.

It takes her a half hour to drag him to one of her secret places, one of the few warm ones in the city. He grunts as she shifts him onto the floor and closes his eyes.

Mizuchi crouches down next to him and begins to peel off his coat. His face is a mass of bruises and welts, and his shirt is crusted with blood. He doesn't protest when she cuts it off, doesn't so much as squirm when she turns him on his stomach to survey the lacerations on his back. Asleep or unconscious, she doesn't know which, but either one is a blessing for the both of them right now.

She falls into the role of tending to his wounds, wiping away the blood, pressing cold compresses to his face, squeezing out antibacterial gel and rubbing it on his back. The motions are soothing, in their own way; it brings her back to a time when Yato was still around, when they would look after each other whenever they were punished for being bad. She finds herself humming the same song that always seemed to make Yato feel better after his rare but more severe lessons. Yukine shifts, but doesn't stir.

When she's done, when the bandages crisscross his torso and the swelling's gone down on his face, she rests her chin in her hands and watches him breathe. What a stupid boy, Mizuchi thinks. Half of his wounds are from him fighting back. Doesn't he know how to go limp, how to submerge himself and allow the pain to slide off like raindrops down a windowpane? It stops much sooner that way, when they realize you've learned your lesson and accepted their punishment.

Mizuchi shakes her head, blows her bangs out of her face.

Yukine shifts, cracks open an eye. She can barely make out his orangey-brown iris through the swelling. "Mizuchi?" he croaks.

he presses a glass of water into his palm, but he doesn't drink it, instead groping around, searching for something. She feels the brush of his cold fingers against hers, and they clutch around her hand.

"There's food," Mizuchi finds herself saying. "People aren't going to come in here."

Yukine nods weakly.

"You should sleep." Who is this person saying these things?

His eyes flutter, then close. She extracts her fingers from his, gets up, leaves.

She can still feel the softness of his grip, hours later.

* * *

Taking care of him becomes part of a new routine for Mizuchi. She finds herself getting up a little earlier, skipping her lunch breaks and hurrying out of the classroom instead of lingering to listen to her classmate's gossip to check on him, to make sure he has food, to change his dressings.

Five days afterwards, there's a letter waiting for her on top of messy blankets. It's short, and quickly written, but she likes his handwriting - bold and neat.

 _Dear Mizuchi,_

 _Guess I owe you again huh? Whenever and wherever you want to go, just let me know. I'm sure you'll know where to find me._

 _Thanks. Really._

 _Yukine_

The letter goes in a little lacquered box Mizuchi keeps next to her futon. It nestles down behind the pretty rocks and feathers Yato used to bring home for her. She pushes it down until she can't see the creamy color of the paper. The dull red teeth of a shrew skull grin at her.

"Shut up," she mutters to it.

Mizuchi fingers her favorite comb, another one of Yato's stolen gifts, and digs her feet into the fur of one of the dogs to stay warm. She stares out the window, keeping her nightly vigil for Yato's return.

It's in a shorter time than normal that she puts the comb back and closes the box, rolling over on her side. She wonders if she'll see Yukine tomorrow.

 _Thanks. Really._

In the dark, she lets herself smile.

* * *

But it's another three days before she sees him again.

"Mizuchi!"

Yukine's waving wildly from behind the school gate, and people are starting to stare.

"Mizuchi, you'll never guess what happened!"

His hands grip the iron bars, and he's almost hopping with excitement. "I finally did it," he whispers gleefully. "I finally got away!"

"Got away?" Mizuchi frowns.

"Uh huh!" Yukine grins. "I found this guy…well really it was more like this guy found me, but he gave me food and took me to his place…" He makes a face. "Wow that sounds kinda creepy doesn't it? But he's not like that." He huffs.

"You're living with him now?"

"Yeah," he says, rolling his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile underneath it. "He's loud and annoying and keeps me up at night, and he won't stop telling me what to do, but you know." He scuffs his shoes. "It's better than…where I was before."

Mizuchi doesn't say anything.

"And um…" Yukine rubs the back of his head. "I thought, well, maybe…you could come too?"

"Come where?" Her voice echoes faintly in her ears.

"To live with us, to get away from your father or whoever. I mean the place is kind of cramped, there's only two rooms, but…" He flushes. "Sorry, I'm just babbling now."

"What are you talking about? I don't want to leave." There's a ringing in her ears that won't go away, and she has to raise her voice in order to hear herself over it. "What do you mean 'get away'?"

Yukine looks taken aback. "But…I mean come on Mizuchi, you have to know it's not…not right what he does to you." His hand comes up to touch her shoulder, and she wrenches away from him, mouth tight. "He's not supposed to…it's wrong of him, to make you do the things you do," he says desperately.

"Making me?" she sneers. "He's not making me do anything."

And there it is - she sees it in his eyes, finally. The disgust, the realization that there's something wrong with her, and worst of all, the stifling pity.

She thought he understood, but he doesn't understand at all.

"I'm not like you," she says nastily. "My father loves me, he only punishes me to teach me, to toughen me up. And it works, doesn't it?" A smile grows slowly on her face, jagged and cruel. "I'm not the one who always needs to rely on someone else to save them."

She sees the hurt and confusion in his eyes behind his growing anger. Good, she thinks, feeling herself become colder and colder.

"You're weak Yukine. Do you really think this man can help you?" The words won't stop; they fall from her mouth like rotten fruit, splattering on the ground between them. "You're so blind and desperate that you're just latching onto him because you're too weak to stand on your own." She's not even sure what she's saying any more - if she's even making sense. "He'll figure you out and he'll - he'll leave you too and then you'll just be poor fragile Yukine, hating everyone else for having what you don't."

He takes a step back. "They were right about you," he says lowly. "You aren't human."

She smiles.

Be like water Mizuchi, she tells herself as he runs off. Water can flow around anything; nothing can ever cut it or hurt it.

But try as she might, all she feels like is cracked, thin ice.

* * *

Yukine's outside of her school again, waiting for her. She refuses to look at him through the window, refuses to come outside until the shadows stretch long across the courtyard and Yukine, slumping, begins to trudge home.

It's not very hard to follow him. He's still dumb, still naïve, and never so much as looks back to check if anyone is trailing him. He winds through the streets, head down, until he reaches a block of apartments near the edge of town.

Mizuchi waits until she hears the swinging open of a door and a halfhearted "I'm home" before creeping up the steps, keeping low. She presses up against the side of the apartment and raises her head to look through the window.

And there, sitting at the dining room table, is Yato.

The door is open before she realizes what she's doing, and two pairs of eyes are staring at her, one orangey brown and the other ice blue.

"Mizuchi?!"

"H-Hiiro?!"

The two look at each other, confused. "You know her?" they ask at the same time.

"Mizuchi," Yukine turns to her, expression pleading. "Mizuchi, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Wait, THIS is the girl you were talking about?" Yato stands, fists clenched. "You shouldn't listen to a word she says Yukine."

"Yato!" Yukine glares at him. "Mizuchi is…" He hesitates, probably thinking about their argument, but presses forward. "Mizuchi is my friend. She helped me, back when…you know…before, with my dad."

Yato snorts, eyeing her suspiciously. "Believe me, if there's anything good she's done for you lately, it's because she has an ulterior motive. This one doesn't do anything without purpose or without her master's permission."

Mizuchi's palms burn, and she forces herself to unclench her hands. Yukine's eyes dart between her and Yato, and he opens his mouth to protest. "But Yato-"

"You don't know her like I know her," Yato snaps. "She doesn't care about people, or consequences, or anything." His eyes narrow at her. "I'm not even sure she's capable of it," she hears him mutter under his breath.

"Why are you taking care of him?" Mizuchi blurts out. "You can't even take care of yourself."

Yato rears back as if slapped. His lip curls. "What do you want, stray?" he growls, and she burns at the use of that name, that detestable name. "Come to ruin my life again?"

"Why would I need to?" she shoots back. "You do such a good job of that yourself." The buzzing in her ears is back, and ice is prickling along her skin.

"Get out of here." Yato takes a threatening step towards her, but she stands her ground. "The last thing Yukine and I need is someone like you stirring up trouble."

"You don't need me to drive him off," she says coldly. She turns and runs, ignoring Yukine's cries after her.

It's dark and she can't see where she's going. She trips and falls, ripping her clothes, gravel tearing into her skin. She scrabbles upwards and keeps running.

It's only when she reaches the pond that she stops, gasping for breath. She squats down, hugging her knees to her chest. The trees appear to be wobbling and everything seems to be blurry, swimming. She closes her eyes, takes a few breaths, waits for the wetness behind her eyes to dissipate.

The moonlight skims the surface of the pond, and she scoots closer to the edge, trailing her fingers in the cold water. If only she could be water - if only she could sink below the surface and settle to the bottom. Wind could whip the water into waves, snotty children could skip rocks, rain could lash against the surface, but she would feel none of it, know none of it, only the cold sucking embrace of the mud below.

She cups the water in her hands, brings it to her face. Studies her wavy reflection - dark eyes, dark hair, pale skin. No matter how she angles the water, all she sees is an ordinary girl.

What is it that everyone sees? she wonders. How can people tell, know that I'm not like them? What went wrong with me that went right with everyone else?

 _You're a brave, tough kid Mizuchi._

She lets the water fall through her fingers.

It's a long time before she leaves for home.

* * *

Father is waiting for her when she gets back.

"Oh Mizuchi," he sighs when he sees her. "What do I keep telling you?"

She sits on his lap on the couch, leaning against his chest. He washes her scraped knee, pulls out a pair of tweezers and begins to pick out the pieces of gravel embedded in her skin.

"I heard you saw Yaboku today."

How does he always know? she wonders, but answers, "Yes."

He pats away the blood welling up from her wound. "Well? How was he?"

"Fine." More than fine, she thinks bitterly.

"And this boy Yaboku's living with…"

She stiffens. Father rubs her knee soothingly. "I know it hurts, Mizuchi, but I'm almost done."

She jerks out a nod, and he resumes his ministrations.

"As I was saying, I heard he's taken a boy under his wing. What was his name again?"

Mizuchi tightens her lips. The tweezers dig into her skin and she winces at the pain. Another piece of gravel plinks into the dish.

"Come now Mizuchi, I know you've been meeting him for quite a while now."

She bows her head. Father chuckles and pats her head affectionately. "Oh don't be so sad, I thought it was good for you to have a friend. Though I worry that you're beginning to take after your brother." He unpeels a bandage, sticks it on her. "I thought you at least were smart enough to know that-"

"People can't be trusted," she mumbles.

"That's right Mizuchi. You've always been such a good girl." He slides her off his lap and stands up, collecting the stained towels and discarded wipes.

"…Father, what will you do to Yukine?"

"I?" There's a pause, and prickles of frost brush along her back. "What happened to 'we', Mizuchi?"

"…We," she says reluctantly. "What will we do to Yukine?"

Dishes clatter in the sink. "I'll leave that up to you." His tone becomes softer, warmer. "I know you'll make the right decision for Yaboku and for our family. You always do."

* * *

It should be easy.

Knowing what to do and how to do it is, in fact, easy. His last name and address were clearly printed on his student ID in the wallet she swiped from him outside the convenience store. She had him pegged as a rich kid the first time she saw him, and she's not wrong - his father has his name and ways to contact him all over the internet. And either Yato's gone soft, or Yukine is just too oblivious and stubborn, because even a week after their confrontation, they're still living at the same address.

It would be easy to contact Yukine's father, letting it slip where Yukine's been living. Easy to let him be taken away, to make him go back to living with his family. Maybe it'd even be easy to convince Yato to come back home, to have him come with her to collect information just like before.

Easy.

But it's not.

Mizuchi knows exactly what's expected of her, and exactly how simple, how maddeningly simple, it would be to fulfill her purpose.

So why is she hesitating?

* * *

She doesn't go to school. She avoids anywhere where Yukine could be, where Yato could be. It doesn't seem to matter though, because they are everywhere she is - in every bun she smells, in every bruise she earns, in every reflection of herself she catches. Yukine's eyes. Yato's scorn.

And then, one day, they actually are there, walking down the street. Mizuchi spots them before they see her, and she ducks into an alleyway, heart hammering away.

She can't stop herself from peering out. For Father, for Father, she chants to herself, she's only taking an interest for Father.

The look of joy and pride on Yato's face as he strides next to his charge burns at her. It's a face she vaguely remembers being directed towards her, a long, long time ago, and seeing it once more just reminds her that he'll never look at her that way again.

But she's surprised to note that the quiet contentment in Yukine's face makes something in her twist as well.

She's pretty sure she didn't do anything to give away her location, but Yato's head snaps around and his eyes meet hers. The soft gaze immediately hardens, and Mizuchi quickly retreats down the alley. When she looks back, minutes later, they're gone.

* * *

Don't you think his family misses him, like I would miss you if you ran away? Father had asked her. You understand best of all, Mizuchi, how important it is to be strong, even if the learning hurts. Don't you think that's the gift his father was giving him?

But Yukine isn't like her. He's soft, weak, almost unbearably so. With anyone else, she'd look at them with frank distaste, toss her hair and declare them to be unfit, to deserve what they get. But there's something about his weakness that draws her towards him.

He's not family, Father tells her.

And he's not, she knows that - family is Yato and Father and Mizuchi and no one else. But Yukine is…she doesn't know. He's not family, but he's not a stranger, not to her. She doesn't know what else there is besides those two categories.

Whatever he is can't be more important than family, than Father and Yato. He can't be.

* * *

She's almost asleep, eyelids sinking slowly downwards, when Mizuchi notices the figure moving stealthily down the street. She scrambles upwards and presses her hands against the cold windowpane. Her heart leaps and for a split second she rejoices - Yato's coming home, coming back to see me and Father, to live with us as a family again.

Then the fogginess of sleep leaves her and she remembers that Yato would never come back without reason, and their confrontation hits her in waves.

She slides open the window, and Yato plants himself firmly on the other side, out of her reach.

"Leave Yukine alone, stray."

"Oh Yato," she says sweetly, "I've missed you too."

He glowers at her.

"What are you plotting? Why are you targeting him?" His eyes narrow. "What does Dad want with-"

He stops suddenly, staring at the large bruise on her arm, a reminder of Father's growing impatience with her weakness.

"What do you think?" she asks, holding it out. "Does it suit me?"

Yato has the decency to look away, swallowing hard.

"Y-Yukine's a good kid." His eyes avoid hers. "He…he doesn't need to be mixed up in all of this." Mixed up with you.

You act all high and mighty, she wants to say. But when it comes down to it, you're no different - you come to me and expect me to tell you where the best place to sleep is, who's likely to hand out food, who's looking to hire a temporary worker. You need me as much as I need you.

"Do you really think Father is going to look the other way?" she asks instead. "It's one thing to leave home, to pretend like you don't know us. It's another thing to involve someone else, to take them in and call them family." She tilts her head. "Didn't you learn about that with Sakura?"

Her name is like a brand to his skin; he stumbles backwards, eyes wide. "Don't you dare say her name," he hisses.

"We're your family," she insists. "We're the only ones who know everything about you, the only ones who accept you for everything you've done. Everything we've done together." She reaches out for him, ignoring his flinch. "We love you."

Yato turns away from her. "You're no family to me."

She drops her hands, clutches them behind her back to keep them from trembling. "We are. You'll realize that someday, when Yukine finds out and leaves you."

"Tell me, Hiiro." His eyes burn into hers. "What is Yukine to you?"

Mizuchi matches his stare. "What do you think?" Her voice is light and mocking, but silently she begs him - tell me, tell me who he is to me. Because I don't know, and you know me.

Yato looks away, shakes his head. "That's what I thought," he says, disgusted.

Her heart sinks, and her throat closes up.

Mizuchi watches him walk out of her life again. He never even looks back.

She continues to stare where she last saw him, long after he's gone, until the background is seared into her eyes hours later when she finally closes her eyes to sleep.

* * *

Her hands hover over the keyboard.

Just do it, she screams in her head. Just do it, just do it do it do it DO IT.

Her hands fall away.

* * *

I'm worried about Yaboku, Father told her. This teacher he's spending time with…I don't think she's very good for him.

And Mizuchi agreed with him. Ever since he had started school, had met this Sakura-sensei, Yaboku had started to drift away, started to spend more and more time outside of the house. He stopped talking to her, stopped sharing secrets he learned, stopped going with her to eavesdrop on the neighbors downstairs. Worst of all was how he was beginning to look at her. She recognized the creeping disapproval in his gaze, the slow realization that there was something wrong with her.

She met this teacher, once. The pity in her eyes was stifling, cloying, and anger had coiled inside of Mizuchi's chest at the sight of it. But even that wasn't as painful as seeing how Yaboku's eyes lit up when his precious Sakura-sensei called on him, the open joy on his face when she praised him.

You're not doing a very good job keeping him safe Mizuchi, Father said gently. The hot breath of the dogs rolled over her skin, and she could feel flecks of saliva on her face. You know it's your responsibility to make sure that people can't hurt him. She nodded. She didn't even whimper when she felt teeth sink into her shoulder, her leg. The pain would remind her of what could await Yaboku if she didn't help him.

It was easy, to find this teacher's secret. A few well-placed whispers in the right ears, a newspaper article left lying around in the teacher's lounge, and there were parents and teachers both complaining to the principal that they didn't want the daughter of a disgraced politician teaching at their institution. It wasn't long after that before Sakura left the school and Yaboku, now insisting on being called Yato, for good.

Sakura was weak, and Sakura wasn't family. It was easy for Mizuchi to make Sakura abandon Yato.

She wonders if it was as easy for Yato to leave her and Father.

* * *

The letter is in her hands again. She never really remembers taking it out of the box and unfolding it, but lately it seems to be finding its way to her more and more often. The edges have begun to wear, but the words are as bold as ever.

She should burn it. Maybe all this…hesitation, these doubts, these treacherous voices in the back of her mind telling her to do the unthinkable, to defy Father…maybe they would all go up in smoke, with nothing but the bitter ashes to show they were there in the first place.

She should burn it. But instead she places it beneath her pillow, where her hands keep it warm for the rest of the night.

* * *

Father's hinting becomes more threatening. Small bruises join the one that Yato noticed and begin to wind their way up her shoulder. Half-moon indents join them along the backside of her arm - her own contribution, her own testament to her wavering resolve.

Despite her inner predicament, there's still secrets to learn, knowledge to exploit, information to gather. She dutifully continues to make her route around town. So it's less than a day later from its delivery that she discovers another letter in almost the exact same place as where Yukine left it before.

She won't read it. She won't.

Her fingers tremble as she stuffs it into her bag. She'll burn it, along with the other letter, when she gets home, like she's been telling herself to. Or maybe she'll take both of them and demand Yukine take them back, to reject him and his stupidly neat handwriting and soft chestnut eyes. To show him that these letters mean nothing to her, that he means nothing to her, that that's the way it always has been and always will be. That's what she'll do, she decides.

The letter lies, unopened, in the corner of her room. The moonlight touches it softly, and the characters that make up her name seem to glow in the light.

She turns around, squeezes her eyes shut, and pretends to sleep.

* * *

 _Dear Mizuchi, it reads._

 _I'm sorry._

 _I still owe you. We can go to that one stand you like. The one you said had good udon. Yato doesn't have to know._

 _I hope you're okay._

 _Yukine_

This time she doesn't bother to wipe away the hot wetness that runs down her face. She puts her head in her knees and lets herself melt.

* * *

"What did you learn today Mizuchi?"

"Kitagara-san is cheating on her boyfriend again," she says. "With a college student - they meet during her lunch break and sneak into the back room of the convenience store."

She continues to recite the rest of what she's overheard, what she's ferreted out and what she's spread. She's aware of her voice being a little too high, a little too fast, as she tries desperately to remember anything else, anything that would stave off the coming conversation.

But her new information dries up far too quickly, and then she has nothing left to say. She sits, tense, waiting for his response.

"Very good Mizuchi." He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "And? What of our Yaboku?"

"He's…he's fine Father." She stares at the table.

"Mizuchi." His chopsticks clink as he sets them down. "You know what I'm asking."

She doesn't say anything. The white tablecloth begins to blur in her vision from staring at it too hard.

"Answer me." She jumps at his terse, sharp tone.

"I've…I've taken care of it Father." Her voice comes out small and trembling. She swallows.

There's a silence, a long, dreadful silence. Mizuchi grips her chopsticks tightly, trying to keep them from rattling against the bowl. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears.

"Mizuchi."

"Yes Father."

The chair scrapes as Father slowly stands up from the table, his shadow falling over her. She can already hear the panting of the dogs, see their eyes glittering from behind Father's hip.

"You've been a bad girl, Mizuchi."

"I know Father," she whispers.

The water carries her away.

* * *

The bruises have begun to fade and the pain has dulled to a faint warning against quick movement when she sees him for the last time.

"Mizuchi," Yukine says when she approaches him. "Or…is it Hiiro? Which one should I call you?"

No one has ever asked her what she's wanted to be called. She shrugs. "Either one." She's all of them and none of them at once - a stray, just like they say.

He scratches his jaw, looks down at his feet. Mizuchi wonders at his stupidity, to come back and see her even after Yato's warned him, after her classmates warned him.

"I heard about my dad, last night," he begins, picking at a scab on his hand. "They found out that…that he had been embezzling money from the company he works for. I guess he's going to go to jail for a long time."

This isn't news to her, but she nods anyways.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Mizuchi looks away. "Thank you," he mumbles. "And...I'm sorry. About what I said before." She gives him a blank stare. "About you not being human. I mean, you say mean things and stuff, and you don't really talk a lot or yell or whatever, but…"

She shrugs. She knows what she is. He doesn't have to apologize for the truth.

"Yato…Yato says that we're going to move away. Says it's too dangerous now, that he knows someone who we can crash with until he finds us another place to live. He's going to see if he can find me a tutor to help me with school stuff, since I can't, you know, go back."

He grabs her hand, and it hangs, limp, in his grasp. "Mizuchi, please, I…I know you and Yato don't get along, and he keeps telling me you're up to no good but…" He bites his lip. "He doesn't know you like I know you. That you're good, that you helped me when you didn't have to, when there wasn't anything in it for you…"

Yato knows her better than anyone else aside from Father, you stupid boy, she wants to say. Yukine is so…stubborn, so terribly naïve and heartbreakingly earnest to think she could be anything different.

"You could still come live with us," he's saying. "I could handle Yato, he would understand, come around, I don't think he dislikes you as much as he says. I know that you lo…love your dad, but I," he squeezes her hand, "I worry about you, and I would m-," his voice dwindles to a thread, "m-miss you."

"I belong to Father," she tells him. And while before she would have said this with pride, this time it comes out sadly, quietly.

He opens his mouth to protest, to press his point, but she just shakes her head wearily, and he deflates, stares at the ground.

She squeezes his hand. "Yukine…"

He looks up at her.

"You were right Yukine," Mizuchi says softly. "You were…you weren't just someone for me to use. You were..." She searches for the words, but can't find them. "Different. You were different. And I…" she swallows, "I…I am going to miss you."

He squeezes back. She lets go of his hand.

"Goodbye, Yukine."

"Goodbye, Hiiro," he says quietly.

* * *

"Are you feeling better Mizuchi?"

Mizuchi nods, and Father smiles, ruffling her hair. "That's my girl," he says. "My unbreakable Mizuchi."

He squats down next to her and touches her face tenderly. "You know I never like to hurt you, it upsets me to have to discipline you. But you disobeyed me and needed to be punished."

She keeps her eyes downcast. His hand moves to her shoulder and squeezes it gently. "What I don't understand is why. You don't actually care for the brat, do you?" The squeeze becomes more insistent.

Mizuchi looks at him, drawing on all of her strength to make her voice come out smooth and as fluid as water. "Yato has always been stubborn," she begins. "He didn't learn with Sakura. But he didn't feel responsible for her. He's taking Yukine under his wing now, and he's trusting him. It'll be even more of a blow when Yukine eventually rejects him. Making Yukine leave Yato now wouldn't teach Yato anything. Having Yukine leave of his own free will might."

He looks at her, appraising. "Is that so, Mizuchi."

"I know Yato. I love Yato," she replies truthfully. "It's my job to protect him, to teach him. He's family."

Father nods thoughtfully. "And Yukine?"

 _You were different._

"Just another puppet," Mizuchi says.

She knows that he knows she's lying, knows that it'll be something that he'll have to teach her over again, not to lie to Father, to family.

But this secret is hers alone.

* * *

 **Comments and criticism welcome! Thank you for reading!**


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